They said I was obsessed!
by Ouchimoo
Summary: After Transformers 1 and before RoTF. Sector Seven is abolished, but Simmons won't let something like that stop him.


_*Oddly, I like Seymour Simmons. I do. It's the personality that I find amusing. Even more amusing is that the actor John Turturro laid claim that his character was based off of Michael Bay. I'm sure imitation was supposed to be the highest form of flattery. Haha, Agent Simmons is a pompous ass! That to me is hilarious. Now, my issue with Simmons is- why would someone as insane and not right in the head be the head of Sector Seven. That was just too ooky for me. Yeah we get it, men in black, oooOoooo. *Rolls eyes. Well in one of the prequel books, Ghosts of Yesterday, it was because he was essentially grandfathered into the roll by his grandfather then his father. Okay, that's more acceptable. There was another book I intended to read, but only managed a few chapters in. And to be honest, I thought Ghosts sucked. I just read the Transformer bits and even that I skimmed through most of it. But the second one he did talked about how Simmons tried to use Frenzy's head for information. It probably covered a lot more, but I honestly couldn't stand the guy's writing. Yeah so he wrote the Novel for the second movie too. I don't think I'll even bother. Besides, I hear he have one of the twins a lisp. O.o_

_Anyways, so yeah this is my version for all the. . um. . Crappy stuff that surrounded Simmons in the movie._

_Essentially I write this for justification to not hate the second movie so much._

:/

Here by eighteen hundred hours Sector Seven will no longer exist.

A poke in the eye-

A swift kick to the nuts-

A slap to the face-

That was the most forefront feeling when those words were spoken to him. Followed by the realization that he ate, slept and breathed Sector Seven since his father, the Old Man, Walter Simmons brought him there when he was a young child. Okay, so they wanted to starve, deprive and suffocate him. Actually, no, that wasn't okay.

"You can't do this!" Estranged eyes went wide.

"Direct orders from the president. You are to clear out your belongings at -"

Bla bla bla bla, your life is over, bla bla bla bla, yes we know that your WHOLE life was dedicated to this project, bla bla bla, Walter Simmons, bla bla bla bla, Autobots, bla bla bla bla, N.E.S.T. Bla bla bla bla William Lennox, bla bla bla bla, Samuel Jackson Witwicky

Sam. Wit. Wicky!

Those eyes _burned_. Only a mother could love those eyes.

_**

Simmons glared at the door. He had almost forgotten that he owned this place. It was supposed to be a white door, but the paint was splitting off. Respectively he hadn't been here in years. Not since he worked off base some twenty, thirty years ago. In his hand was a small, green, hard plastic suit case of all his personal belongings. Behind him was a U-haul. That was filled with boxes upon boxes of classified Sector Seven paperwork and items of his own personal work. If by personal work, you mean 'borrowed' from a destroyed Sector Seven lab. Or two.

Open the door.

"Ma'ma!" He greeted with arms wide open. At some point he let his flesh and blood mother move in when she was going through a tough time. His mother. He hardly even knew her. His father married her a long time ago. The marriage ended quickly and it was deemed that Walter would take care of the children with his new wife. He really didn't know what to expect. Someone sane he was hoping. Now he saw why the marriage didn't last. It didn't matter, family was family!

Her greeting in reply was a rage of screaming. His eye twitched.

"Oh, don't be like that." He forced a smile on his face as he cooed her down with indignation in his voice. She was flailing a wooden spoon in a threatening manner while she finished off her yelling in the other room, the kitchen. When she was done she wandered off behind a wall, out of his site. Still standing in sight were a few estranged people. One guy smiled and waved. What a smile! It looked like a nine year old performed dental work on him using Chicle gum pieces!

The place was trashed. Not so much trashed as in, well. Not something he'd ever consider living in. And he never figured his standards very high! His face cocked slightly, another twitch in his eye. It smelled like- meat locker. It looked like meat locker. There was a strange noise to his left. Almost robotic his head slowly swiveled to face what was causing this clucking noise. Bobbing its head up in down in furious examination of Simmons, was a chicken. A white and black freckled chicken clucked away as it took roost on an old green textured chair. Almost robotic, Simmons head turned to face straight again.

He bit the inside of his lip, nodding his head. Family was family no matter how much he didn't like it. Or even if he downright hated it.

"I'll get my stuff!" He yelled out to the empty room, pretending that someone would care. Okay Chicle face guy cared. He smiled again and waved, again. He then went back to drying dishes or whatever he was doing.

Reaching the back door to his partial basement cellar pulled a moment of delight out of him. After all these years it was still locked securely. There was some tampering, but not enough to get through the lock. Boxes upon boxes upon boxes were moved into the room. Along with a few odds and ends. Like enough equipment to keep a science department content to never beg for funds ever again. His suitcase went with him. The latches snapped open to reveal his new pride and joy. A little severed head packed tightly among his socks and colorful underwear. The jagged but smooth edged spikes gleamed in the dim light. The blue optics were dead. Simmons picked it up and narrowed his eyes at it.

"You have secrets. And I know _all _about secrets! I know how to get them, and I know how to keep them." He was tempted to dive into his new project at once, but first he had to take a few trips. Sector Seven may be decommissioned, but Simmons wasn't going to go down with it!

Undercover secret agent! Dressed up in the most horribly ridiculous tourist clothes one wouldn't think possible. Unless maybe, you're a first time tourist from Middle America who apparently never went thirty miles away from home. Simmons waited for his plane to lift off while thoroughly examining his foil reflector and sunglasses.

First 'tourist' attraction was down in South America.

The second, China.

The third, Easter Islands.

The fourth, Wiltshire.

The fifth, Egypt.

For anyone else, this would have been the tourist run of a lifetime. For Simmons, it was business as usual.

Costly business. As if it wasn't already bad enough that he lost everything when he lost his job, his lucrative savings were disappearing fast. Especially now that his tight connections in other countries had been wearing thin. He had to pay five thousand big ones! On just ONE border crossing alone! Out in the middle of a nowhere desert! It was robbery! Plus they wanted to trap him into giving them information about the super secret organization that just tanked.

"I can't give you that! That is, classified information!" Another thousand was dropped to the table. The man glanced down at the pitiful wad of cash. Okay not pitiful, but he had the upper hand. His cocky disposition made it seem pitiful. "This is robbery!" Simmons growled. The beady eyed man only looked amused. "Okay look." His tongue grated the inside of his teeth. "I can't tell you about that," meaning past jobs, "_but!_ I'm under no obligation to keep the current information from you." They really didn't think that just disowning him would remove him from any and all current information did they? He STILL HAD CONNECTIONS remember! "You hear what happened in Japan? That base in Saudi Arabia," Simmons lingered, watching the cocky expression slowly slip away from that smug little face. "I know how that's related to here." His thick finger pounded the table top. "Eh!?" Simmons egged on the temptation. He wouldn't give him much, but the man slipped his hand over the wad of cash and pulled up a chair. He was interested.

"Remember the code name, 'I am from New York."

-

Somebody had to keep an eye on things. He wasn't about to let a bunch of Godzilla sized robots play keeps on his beloved planet! Especially if his own government was content to let the giant robots use earth as their own personal playground. No words could describe his disdain and the feelings of betrayal he felt!

-

Then there was the matter of trying to obtain some plutonium. It turns out trying to run one of those stupid robots, even just his head wasn't going to take a couple of double D batteries, that was for sure. Or New York. Luckily the entire blackout was culled before it became a city wide panic that lead suspicions right to Simmons's back door. A new door was put in place inside the meat locker in the floor above and the back door was completely removed. Just in case! He still couldn't get that stupid little head to give him any useful information and now it was radio active. At least it made a nifty little trophy inside that glass case.

But after all that, it didn't take long for his funds to get completely depleted. He needed cash easy and quick. Job searching took too much time and effort away from his new found 'love' hah! His new found _need _to keep an eye on the robots via the internet. Especially after he saw that game boy, chia pet head novice getting a lot of attention gloating about giant robots with a bad blog and crappy cell phone videos from Mission City.

It was on!

Oh and yes, he needed funds. And bad! Anything will do!

Black eyes twitched inside their socket in disdain and irritation.

Eyes that only a mother could love.

-

-

"Ma'ma!"

_I'm posting this because well, I had it written up a long time ago and I figured to just get around to posting it finally. Reviews are always fun, but meh, the story is about Simmons. I'm not expecting much. :P_


End file.
